


Basic Code

by manic_intent



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Alpha!Zod, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hm why did I write this again seriously, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Somehow tensions de-escalate, That fic where Clark doesn't kill Zod at the end, omega!Clark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark found General Zod knee-deep in the flooded bowels of the alien scout ship, swearing in Kryptonian. He had pried open a panel in the uncomfortably organic-looking wall of the ship and was fumbling with the metallic veinwork within, a podlike bot levitating tools by some kind of stasis beside his elbow. Zod glanced up sharply as Clark floated over the lip of the entryway, frowned, then turned back to the veinwork, pressing his fingertips to an ear.</p><p>“Ancient tech,” Zod grunted, the translator tech turning incomprehensible, elegant vowels into English. “Thousands of years old. Belonged to your family. And <i>you</i> crash it.” </p><p>“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to use it to destroy the planet.” Clark pointed out warily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Code

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【佐超翻译】Basic Code](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722728) by [Saroyamal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saroyamal/pseuds/Saroyamal)



> This ficbunny popped up after I saw this pic on twitter:
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> I think it’s from Superman/Wonder Woman Issue 6, for those who are actually that curious. The issue also has some sort of weird tentacle monster… you can probably find the scans online…
> 
> Also I just watched Midnight Special XD;;
> 
>  **Disclaimer for new readers** : I don’t generally read mainstream comics, I don’t have the time/energy/inclination and I’m usually more into Vertigo-style stuff etc etc, so this will not follow any comic canon/general comic characterisation but will follow instead what I got out of watching MoS/BvS. Don’t like, don’t read :)
> 
> In this AU, Clark does not kill Zod at the end of MoS, and the story takes place sometime after MoS.

I.

Clark found General Zod knee-deep in the flooded bowels of the alien scout ship, swearing in Kryptonian. He had pried open a panel in the uncomfortably organic-looking wall of the ship and was fumbling with the metallic veinwork within, a podlike bot levitating tools by some kind of stasis beside his elbow. Zod glanced up sharply as Clark floated over the lip of the entryway, frowned, then turned back to the veinwork, pressing his fingertips to an ear.

“Ancient tech,” Zod grunted, the translator tech turning incomprehensible, elegant vowels into English. “Thousands of years old. Belonged to your family. And _you_ crash it.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to use it to destroy the planet.” Clark pointed out warily. 

“Have you looked at this planet? It’s already being destroyed. By the creatures you care about so much. They’re destroying their own ecosystem. _And_ each other.” Zod twisted two of the strange veins together and swore as they sparked against his fingers. Smoke rose from the panel, and Zod cursed, standing back as the pod helpfully sprayed it with some sort of clear extinguisher foam. 

“General Dru-Zod, it is highly recommended that any further reparations to the ship be undertaken by an accredited member of the Spacefarer-Engineer Guild,” Ship said, in a neutral, oddly feminine voice. Zod muttered something under his breath. “It is a very strong recommendation,” the Ship added, somehow managing to sound faintly hurt. 

“Moving the ship back onto the mountain, trying to repair it… what are you up to?” Clark asked warily. 

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Zod shot back bitingly, “The ship’s partly flooded and stinks of leaking bio-organic insulation.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’? Do the humans like living in flooded housing? You’ve gone that native?” 

“Kal-El’s voice print identified. Updated records indicate that Jor-El was an esteemed roster-chief of the last generation of the Spacefarer-Engineers. This will very likely qualify Kal-El for the cadet program,” Ship said hopefully. "With relevant training-"

“Live in hope, Ship,” Zod growled, and glared when Clark, despite everything, started to laugh. 

Zod slammed the panel shut and floated up, the gesture effortless now. It should be frightening how quickly Zod seemed to have adapted to Earth and the powers that the yellow sun provided, but somehow, even within here, he seemed strangely… diminished. Zod’s hair had grown out over the months, feathering thickly over his forehead in an unruly mop, and his murderous anger had long faded to resigned bitterness. 

“Did you want something?” Zod asked flatly. 

“Just… checking in.” 

“Well. You’ve checked.” Zod landed on the platform lip and stalked into the ship, bio-organic fluid squelching under his boots. Clark had to land and lengthen his stride to keep up. “The humans asked you to bring me in, did they?”

“They asked me to check on you. You _did_ level a couple of their buildings.”

“ _We_ did,” Zod corrected coldly. “Also, what in Rao’s name do humans make their buildings out of, parchment? Ridiculous.” 

Clark swallowed his temper. He wasn’t in the mood to have yet another argument about responsibility. Like the last time. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking.”

“You’re repairing the ship just to make it habitable?”

Zod rolled his eyes. “You destroyed the Genesis chamber _and_ its terraform capacity. And it’s flight capacity. What else in Rao’s name is it good for now?” 

“Why bother, then?”

“Why…?” Zod turned so suddenly on his heel that Clark nearly walked right into him. “Why? Because it reminds me of _home_ ,” Zod hissed, low and venomous. “Satisfied? It’s all that I have _left_ that reminds me of my homeworld.” 

“I…” Clark hadn’t been expecting that. “I see. Sorry.” 

Zod narrowed his eyes for a moment, then he grunted, seemingly appeased. “That uniform you’re wearing. Where did you get that? I haven’t seen anything like that out of the history vids.” 

“Ah… my father’s AI presented it to me. Uh, from this ship.”

“That’s your House’s crest. But everything else… you look like a walking histogram.” 

“You’re trying to tell me that I’m out of fashion,” Clark tried a faint grin, and got another glare for his trouble. 

“This ship _has_ been lying dormant here for thousands of years. What did you think, that Kryptonian society’s been stagnant all this while? You look ridiculous. Red boots? Really?” 

“I like it,” Clark said mildly, amused. 

“Of course you would. You’re your father’s son, Rao preserve us. A House of madmen. Your ancestor flying this scoutship so far into deep space, pah! Your father deciding to commit high treason not once but _twice_. And now _you_ -” Zod cut himself off, with a sudden frown. “Kal-El, why _are_ you here? Stop avoiding the question.”

“I wasn’t avoiding the question,” Clark protested. Away from the flooded chamber, the ship smelled less like melting plastics and more like some sort of warm animal, big and clean and alive. It was… pleasant. He tried not to make it seem like he was breathing in deeply. 

Clark was getting distracted. Zod was staring at him oddly now, and as Clark raised an eyebrow, something like pure exasperation twisted across Zod’s severe face, settling back on resignation. “How old are you?” 

“Uh-“ 

“Answer me.”

“Thirty. Why?” 

Zod huffed out a deep sigh. “Ever get headaches? Fevers? Once a month?” 

“Yes, why?” Clark blinked. “Is that normal? For Kryptonians?”

“It hasn’t been ‘normal’ for over a hundred years, boy.” Zod let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Not since we finally decided to manually correct all the base animal habits out of our genetic code during the fetus stage. You, however. Your Rao-damned parents, instead of having you made in a Genesis Chamber like every other healthy Kryptonian baby… Natural _birth_ ,” Zod muttered in distaste. “Unedited basic code. All the flaws.” 

“My father said he wanted me to have free will.” 

“I think your father was several qudat cards short of a full deck at the end,” Zod growled. “Free will? Your parents were Genesis-made, and they had free will. Too damned much of it, in my opinion, what with stealing the Codex and _natural birth_ and firing off their _infant son_ in a spacepod to an alien planet.”

“But-“ 

“Your father sold you the same load of _krudak_ as he did your mother. He was _curious_ about the birthing process, more likely. Especially since _he_ wasn’t exactly the one bearing all the risks. Your mother could have _died_. Pregnancy’s risky and we haven’t had midwifery or paediatric services for a _century_.” 

Clark set his jaw. “So what does that have to do with my headaches? Am I sick?” 

“You’re not sick,” Zod said gruffly. “You just have a large number of recessive genetic traits. Congratulations,” he added sardonically. “Blame your crazy Rao-damned father.” 

“What can I do to fix it?”

“Nothing. You seem to be getting through your problem fine. What do you do every month, hide out somewhere cold and wait it out?” At Clark’s wary nod, Zod turned around and started walking again. “There you go. That’s the best you can do. But the next time you get the fever? _Stay away from me_.”

II.

Normally Clark _did_ manage fine during what he called his monthly ‘time outs’. His adoptive parents had been the ones who had figured out what to do: back in Kansas, they’d usually prepared a tub full of ice, to help Clark lower down his temperature and stay calm. As he’d grown older, taking a couple of days off to walk in the Himalayas or in the polar regions wasn’t so bad. The world could be so beautiful even when it was empty.

Two months after his strange talk with Zod, though, Lois grew bored with her role on the society desk and had somehow wrangled an assignment on the war desk. Perry had been extremely reluctant, even as he had arranged an escort. Worried, Clark followed Lois from afar, even though the growing restlessness under his skin told him that he was leaving his time off too late. He was glad that he did: predictably, everything went quickly to hell - but he was lightheaded when he was finally carrying Lois to safety, and she stared at him in surprise as they flew.

“Clark,” Lois said uneasily. “You’re sweating.”

“Uh. Everyone sweats?”

“You feel really warm… Are you coming down with something? Can you even get sick?” 

“It’s a once a month thing,” Clark admitted. Lois’ weight felt reassuring in his arms, but it wasn’t enough - it was _wrong_ , somehow. Dizzy, Lois yelped as Clark abruptly dropped a metre in the air, though he recovered quickly into a hover. 

“Clark!” 

Clark looked around desperately. He’d intended to fly Lois to the closest American embassy, but something was wrong, he was getting warmer and- “There’s an American army base close by. Can I…?”

“Yeah. Sure. Just. Don’t push yourself, all right?” Lois said worriedly. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” He could hear something chattering in Arabic, then another voice in American English. Radio waves, the satellites, _noise_ -

“Clark! Clark, put me down. I’ll walk there from here. We can walk. I’ll try to call for help.”

“We’ll make it.” Clark clamped down on his fraying control, flying them the rest of the way to the base, dropped off Lois with the surprised sentries, and jetted off, going as fast as he could up, up, into the stratosphere, where it was colder. Cold enough for his mind to clear. He checked on Lois - she was talking earnestly to the sentries, showing them her press credentials and passport. Breathing out slowly, Clark waited until Lois was being politely escorted into the base before turning away, angling towards the North Pole. Somewhere colder. He needed to be colder. 

The flight was a blur, and some part of Clark wasn’t in the least surprised that he had flown down to the scout ship instead of to the North Pole as he’d intended. He got as far as one of the broken entryways before the ground and the snow seemed far more inviting, and then he was cheek down, melting the snow into slush, dizzy again. He could almost smell that comfortable warm animal musk. Almost. 

It was growing stronger by degrees, then Clark was inhaling gratefully as warm fingers pressed against his throat, then checked his eyes. Somewhere in the distance, Zod was cursing in Kryptonian again. “I really should leave you here.” Zod muttered, and sighed as Clark made a sound of distress and grabbed for his wrist. 

Clark felt himself being picked up, then he was being flown somewhere. Deeper into the ship. He could smell the fluid insulation, the strange burned-plastic stench. Ship was saying something in concern, but Clark wasn’t listening. The only important sound was Zod’s heartbeat, steady and slow.

“Ship, corrective stasis.” 

“Insufficient faculties, General Zod.” 

“Typical,” Zod muttered, and Clark whined and twisted as he felt himself being lowered into oddly warm fluid. “Shh, shh. Don’t fight. You’ll be able to breathe. Close your eyes.” The fluid grew quickly colder around Clark, and he would have let out a grateful sound if he could, submerged, still loosely held in Zod’s arms. Dimly, he could still hear Zod speaking. “Synthesize the pheromones he needs, Ship.”

“Insufficient faculties, General Zod. The Genesis Chamber remains critically damaged. However, Ship notes that _you_ carry the alpha gene.”

Zod grunted. “I know that. But my genetic code was edited at birth to fix the traits. I can’t generate alpha pheromones to the level that he needs.” 

“Regardless, Kal-El appears to be deriving some manner of comfort from your presence. His vitals are stabilising.” 

“On hindsight, this is also typical,” Zod said, resigned. “Curse that Jor-El. Since the Academy, he’s always been leaving me to clean up his spectacular mistakes.” 

“The omega geneseed is a natural genetic pattern for the Kryptonian species,” Ship said reproachfully. “Compared to the ‘beta’ pattern, which was synthetically created.” 

“Nothing's been purely 'natural' for thousands of years. Besides, there’s a reason why we edited the omega trait out of the general population and made most of our people betas. There’s not even a need for the alpha gene outside of the military guild.” Zod tried to pull back, but grumbled again as Clark whined and tugged him closer. “Look at that,” Zod observed in distaste.

 _Sorry_ , Clark wanted to say, flinching. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared about what Zod thought, not entirely. Now, however, disapproval seemed devastating. Hands stroked his shoulder and back in careful comfort, and Clark relaxed, floating, safe. 

“There are benefits to the omega geneseed,” Ship was saying. 

“Only for natural childbirth.” 

“Had you sensed that Kal-El was an omega during the battle you would have let him defeat you.”

“I knew he was an omega,” Zod said curtly. “We scanned him when I was trying to extract the Codex.” 

“Records indicate that alphas are incapable of aggressive behaviour towards an omega.”

“Pure alphas, maybe. And I didn’t really fight him,” Zod conceded quietly. “If I did, he would be dead.” 

Clark stirred, a question worming down through the fog in his mind, curious, but he ended up sleeping instead. Peace was safety and a warm weight, curled against him, fingers stroking down his spine.

III.

Clark woke up abruptly. He was in a podlike room that lit up as he pulled himself up onto his elbows, and he was lying on a bunk made out of some oddly soft material that shifted obligingly under his weight, strangely comfortable. Judging from the organic alien lines of the room and the lack of obvious light source, he was aboard the scout ship.

“Ship?” Clark asked cautiously.

“Good afternoon, Kal-El.”

“How did I get here?”

“Forty-six hours ago you arrived at my immediate perimeter and had to be carried inside by General Dru-Zod. I regret to advise that I was unable to do anything more than help stabilise your condition, after which you were left in my aft-5b cabin to recover.” 

“Stabilise?” 

“I endeavoured to lower your body temperature and amplify the base pheromone effect from the presence of General Dru-Zod’s alpha geneseed,” Ship explained incomprehensively. “Regrettably, given the damage done to my Genesis Chamber I was unable to synthesize the pheromone myself.” 

“Where’s the General now?” Clark rubbed a hand over his face. 

“East of the perimeter. He is not in the best of moods.”

“When is he ever?” Clark asked dryly, getting off the bed with wobbly feet. 

“You are mildly dehydrated and you need nutrients. Please drink this first, Kal-El.” 

Against the wall, a segment emerged like a shelf, with a transparent glass bowl of warm water. Clark drank gratefully, and whatever it was in the water made even the dull ache of hunger abate. Stronger, he headed out of the scoutship.

Zod was easy to find. He was sitting on a ledge, eyes closed, though he looked over when Clark sat cautiously down next to him. “Better?” Zod asked, his tone acerbic. 

“Sorry.” 

“Not your fault.” Zod groused. “We’re too far from the Oort region, or I could’ve had one of their shipwrights fix the Genesis Chamber. Though, even if they did, it’s still a thousand years out of date. The synthesized pheromones might not work.”

“Thanks for helping me,” Clark said slowly, “But I have no idea what is happening.” 

“Of course you don’t.” Zod scowled. “All right. Some earth animals have a similar sort of make-up. Their females are infertile most of the time, but when they _are_ fertile, they go into season. On Krypton, we call those creature-types ‘omegas’.”

“I’m _male_.” 

“Yes. A couple of thousand years back, the Kryptonian species was on the brink of extinction. A highly advanced and educated population meant fewer and fewer children. So we made some corrections. Randomised the genome. The First Great Heresy, they call it now,” Zod said grimly. “But it worked. With omega _and_ alpha females being capable of birth, along with omega males, that meant over eighty per cent of the population was biologically inclined to breed. Our population exploded. It led to the Expansionist Age. Scout ships like that one over there spread across the universe.” 

“What went wrong?” 

Zod shrugged. “Leaving aside the fact that the population boom inevitably led to Krypton overusing stellarium and eventually destabilising our own planet… there were more immediate social problems. The omega geneseed has obvious issues. Look at what just happened to you. And the pure alpha geneseed makes its carriers aggressive. Violent.”

“Let me guess. You’re an alpha?”

“Edited alpha.” Zod smirked, however. “But there you go. So we decided to create a whole new genetic pattern, while engineering developments in the Genesis Chamber tech. We phased out the omega geneseed completely and edited down the alpha pattern just to military families. We called the new sequence the ‘beta’ pattern, and as of my time in Krypton, ninety per cent of the population were betas. Your _parents_ were betas. Genesis Chamber tech kept the population stable.” 

“But ten per cent were all ‘edited’ alphas? In the military?” 

Zod inclined his head. “And then there’s you.” 

“You said ‘birth’, I don’t… I don’t know about that.” Clark squirmed uncomfortably.

“Talk to Ship if you want the details. I don’t want to know. I’d rather we never had this conversation ever again, in fact.” 

Despite himself, Clark started to chuckle. “Sorry.” 

“Just don’t do it again,” Zod muttered, and now that Clark was paying attention again, with all of his senses working, he could see that Zod’s temperature was slightly elevated, that his heart rate was quickened. Curious. 

“You said something about not really fighting me,” Clark recalled, and tried not to grin as Zod stiffened up visibly. “Is that true?”

“Your combat stance is atrocious.” Zod retorted, which wasn’t really an answer. 

“You could teach me,” Clark suggested. Zod merely narrowed his eyes. “We’re the last of our species, General. And I know almost nothing about Krypton. I can’t even speak the _language_. I _am_ sorry about how everything turned out. But I don’t want to turn away from my parents’ people.” 

Zod’s lip curled, and for a long moment Clark thought that Zod was going to brush him off. Sneer something, or snap something pithy about sacrifice. Instead, Zod looked away, exhaling slowly, and when he finally spoke, his tone was neutral. “It _is_ ridiculous that you can’t even speak Kryptonian.” 

“I know.” 

“You don’t fully belong here, do you?” Zod observed acidly. “That’s why you come to me, an enemy. You’re from two worlds but belong to neither.” 

“I don’t see you as my enemy,” Clark said gently. “I never have.” 

Zod’s eyes widened slightly, then he sighed. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “I don’t have the patience to teach you the basics of our language. But Ship does. Start there.”

IV.

When Zod wasn’t holding back, he was terrifyingly good. Pinned for the tenth time that morning, Clark grumbled and squirmed until Zod let him up from the snow. “Again,” Zod said flatly, and they went another round, embarrassingly short. “Again.”

In the end, as he usually did, Clark lay on the snow and didn’t bother to get up, panting. Zod rolled his eyes, getting to his feet, then he hissed as Clark kicked at the back of his knees and dragged him down, rolling on top. Fingers curled around Clark’s neck, tightening for a second before relaxing, and Zod stared up at him, annoyed and unafraid. 

“I like your hair like this,” Clark said unthinkingly. “Grown out.” 

Zod blinked at him with surprise, then his scowl deepened. “You like trivial things.” They were speaking in Kryptonian, Clark’s shaky, Zod speaking slowly, in simpler words. 

“Makes you look less severe,” Clark grinned. Zod’s face was far too cruelly made to be handsome, but Clark liked the fierceness of it, all those sharp angular lines. That scent, like a warm animal, comforting deep down. 

Fingers tipped up Clark’s chin with surprising gentleness, and Zod’s eyes dilated, his heartbeat picking up, and though Clark caught his breath, Zod said nothing, his hand dropping away. “Get off.” 

“Do you…” Clark trailed off. Asking if Zod _liked him_ sounded like preschool. “Are you still mad at me? Over what happened?”

“If I was, would I be doing this with you?” Zod bit out sharply. “Get _off_.”

“Have you forgiven me?” Clark asked, as seriously as he could. “I want to know.” 

Zod sighed. “You were defending your home. We were at war, I understand why you did what you did, it was us or you and your human friends. So. There’s nothing to forgive. Happy now?” 

“I want to know," Clark whispered, angling closer, inches away, and it was exhilarating, how Zod shivered under him, how those dangerous hands rubbed tentatively up Clark’s flanks with forced gentleness. They kissed with the sweet inevitability of fated strangers, the last of their kind, marooned on a world that was not theirs. Fingers crept up to the back of Clark’s neck, and he groaned against Zod’s mouth as they held him down.

V.

“I still think you should let Ship handle your heat,” Zod muttered, even as Clark hauled him into the nearest pod cabin. "After I went to all the trouble to rewire parts of the Genesis Chamber so that Ship could regain basic chemical processing."

“I’m not in heat yet. Besides, if you’re only going to want me like this during a heat cycle then I want to make the most of it,” Clark shot back. 

Zod glowered at him, catching Clark’s fingers as he tried to go for the clasps on Zod’s armour-uniform. “That’s not true,” he said finally, and Clark blinked.

“Really?” 

“You’re beautiful by any standard,” Zod said gruffly, though he turned his cheek away as Clark grinned and tried for a kiss. “But this is irresponsible.”

“What is? Sex?” Clark paused. “Kryptonians no longer have _sex_?”

“Only recreationally. That’s not the problem. I knew your _parents_.” 

“So what? They’re not here.” Clark dragged Zod towards the bunk, pulling off his cloak. “ _You’re_ here,” he added breathlessly, and Zod groaned as he buried his mouth against Clark’s neck, breathing deeply. 

“Rao, that _scent_ ,” Zod whispered, sounding a little dazed, finally. 

Stripped of his armour, Zod was still imposing by any measure. Scars were ridged over his skin, a bitter map of a life lived violently, and Zod seemed unselfconscious about his nakedness, watching as Clark curiously studied him. Zod’s cock was hardening against his belly, thick and long and flushed. Clark bit down on his lower lip, dizzy again. He wasn’t even in heat yet. That would come tomorrow. 

“Done this before?” Zod inquired neutrally. 

“Not with a…” Clark trailed off. “Not like this.” 

Zod frowned at him as Clark stripped off his boots. “You slept with the _natives_?” 

“No need to say that like…” Clark started to laugh. Zod’s horrified expression was _hilarious_. “Also, no. Not really. I kinda. The last time it happened, I hurt someone.” He had accidentally fractured Lois’ hip, just by squeezing too hard. She had tried to laugh it off after painkillers and a hospital visit, but that had meant the end of things. Clark had felt sick. 

“Should have thought that through,” Zod growled, never one for easy comfort, though he stared avidly as Clark stripped off the rest of his suit. Skin to skin, it was Clark’s turn to feel self-conscious, even as Zod looked him up and down with obvious appreciation. 

“Beautiful,” Zod murmured, and smirked as Clark flushed. Fingers closed tight around Clark’s cock, stroking, even as Zod crept his spare hand between them, searching. Clark flinched as callused fingers pressed against the dry seam between his balls and hole - he’d never tried exploring that before, never wanted to think very hard about his so very _alien_ body - and he gasped as he felt himself growing slick. Reacting to Zod’s touch. 

Zod frowned at him, concerned. “All right there?” 

Clark nodded tightly. He could feel a slow ache, curled tightly with an unfamiliar pleasure, his body relaxing, opening up. Zod didn’t do much more than stroke him, even as Clark started to squirm, though he smirked as his thumb rode up against the slit and Clark let out a short yelp of pleasure. 

“Please,” Clark wished he didn’t sound so breathless. _Whining_. 

“Please what?” 

“A finger,” Clark panted. “ _Something_. Inside.” His hands were clenched tightly over Zod’s shoulders. On a human, he would have crushed bone. Zod merely chuckled obligingly. 

“You’re tight.” The finger probed smoothly deeper, and Clark could feel how slick he was now, against Zod’s knuckles, light-headed. It was quickly nowhere near enough, and as Clark let out an impatient sound, Zod gave him another finger, rubbing deeper, spreading him. He was so wet now that the slow thrusts seemed to squelch loudly in the room, all obscene rhythm. _Please_ , Clark was gasping, in broken Kryptonian, sliding to English and back. _Please_. At the third finger, he whimpered and stiffened, cock pumping in Zod’s grip, spurting over fingers. 

“Sensitive,” Zod growled, stroking Clark through his orgasm until he was bent over Zod, his breaths fracturing in low sobs against Zod’s cheek. “That’s good.” 

“I want more,” Clark gasped. “Give me more. Want your cock inside me,” he said in a rush, close to babbling now, grinding anxiously down against Zod’s knuckles, clenching tightly. “Want _more_. I want you to breed me.” 

Zod’s eyes went wide, and for a moment Clark thought he had pushed too far, said too much. Then he was being flipped around, onto his hands and knees on the bed, while Zod cursed behind him, pushing his shoulders down until Clark’s cheek was pressed to the pillow, his ass angled up into the air. “You,” Zod said, and it was Zod who sounded helpless. Even like this, spread, it was Clark’s hand on the reins; it was Zod who was waiting for a signal, and he would wait forever if he had to. 

“Come on,” Clark invited, and Zod mumbled something incoherent as he straightened up, pressing inside, stretching Clark around him, pushing carefully deeper. Zod’s patience was beyond belief. Whenever Clark’s groans etched up into pain, he would stop, waiting, his breaths hot against Clark’s shoulders, quiet for all that Clark could hear how rapidly Zod’s heart was jumping. When Zod was finally balls deep, Clark had to turn his face against the bunk, his eyes raw with tears. It was so _good_. 

“Kal,” Zod murmured against Clark’s spine, and for a dissonant second Clark’s confusion twisted sourly in his gut. _Kal_. That was his name. Kal-El. He breathed out unsteadily, and to his surprise, Zod corrected himself. “Clark.” 

Clark blinked away the sting in his eyes. He was getting hard again, just like that, breathing in the warm musk of Zod’s skin, bracketed under all that power. The sense that he _belonged_ was for a moment so overwhelming that Clark had to turn his face down again, his next breath bitten out over a sob. 

“Clark?” Zod sounded alarmed, but Clark grabbed blindly for his arm as he started to pull away.

“Don’t, _don’t_ , stay like this, wait, just wait,” Clark choked out, and clenched down to make his point. Zod flinched against him but obliged with a low groan, and rubbed his cheek against Clark’s shoulders, an animal gesture. Clark shivered. Was this what getting high was like? He rolled his hips, and Zod hissed, clawing at the bunk. 

“Funny,” Zod growled, as Clark stifled a giggle. 

“You can move now,” Clark breathed. Zod wasn’t the only one getting desperate. Zod hesitated until Clark tipped his hips back, then he gasped and started to rock into Clark, tentative at first, then harder, deeper. Clark braced himself against the hull of the ship and sneaked a look over his shoulder. Zod’s eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tight, whether in agony or pleasure or both Clark couldn’t tell. “Zod,” Clark whispered, then, “ _Dru_ ,” when Zod’s next breath stuttered into a strangled noise. “ _Aaah_! Gods, that’s _good_. Harder… fuck me harder-“ 

“Shut up, just, _be quiet_ ,” Zod said desperately, and put his weight against the next thrust, his strength, no longer holding back. His hands were clenched over Clark’s hips, tight enough to _hurt_ and even that felt good, that Zod could hurt Clark like this, the only one on Earth who was Clark’s equal. The knowledge seared close with clarity so bright that Clark was coming before he knew it, fucking himself back against Zod’s thrusts with a cry, shaking. Fingers stroked up over his belly with astonished gentleness, through the mess, and a groan bit silent over the arch of Clark’s spine. 

Zod made a surprised sound as Clark twisted free and shoved him against the hull, though he twitched and gasped as Clark seated himself back down, arching to get Zod in as deeply as he could. His soiled fingers smeared fluid up the jagged scar on Zod’s collarbone to close loosely over Zod’s neck as Clark rode Zod as hard as he could; they were wound tight to breaking on each other, bruising lust onto their flesh. Zod bit down hard over Clark’s shoulder when he spilled, holding Clark tightly against him, hips twitching up gently as his knot swelled and caught, sealing them together. Clark let out a shaky groan, twisting experimentally until Zod grumbled and held him still. 

“So,” Clark whispered, when their breathing slowed. “Tomorrow.”

Zod pulled a face. “You’re fertile tomorrow.”

“So?” Clark tried to imagine it, bracing himself for a sense of disgust that never came. Life growing. Another generation. 

“That means Ship deals with it,” Zod growled. “With all advanced life support systems still down, Ship’s not capable of dealing with any complications, and I don’t trust the natives and their primitive tech.”

“I like the idea,” Clark said with arch innocence, just to make Zod flush darkly and grumble. 

“You would. You’re an El and you’re _all_ crazy.” Zod groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s contagious. I can’t believe you even just made me consider the idea. A _heretical_ idea.” 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Clark suggested, and smirked as Zod swatted at him halfheartedly. 

Eventually, Zod gathered Clark close, tucking his head under Zod’s chin, petting him. The last of their kind, but maybe not forever. Eyes closed, Clark shut out the rest of the world, the background hum of the ship, beyond, to the whisper-world of the satellites above, the people, everywhere. He slept to words pressed against his hair, whispered close to his ear, the language of his birth, tempered by time.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahaha... hopefully that's the end of it... 
> 
> Midnight Special is pretty good though :) Really recommend it to anyone interested in a well-made AU sci fi film where a depowered Zod is on the run with baby!Clark.  
> \--  
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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